Upon the Morrow
by odiedragon
Summary: After speaking with Queen Anora, Tabris realizes where her duty lies and takes matters into her own hands. But will her would-be king agree with her?
1. Part 1

**Upon the Morrow – Part 1**

_Blast my noble heart,_ I thought to myself. _When did I develop this iron-clad sense of duty anyway?_

As if I didn't already know.

"You know, Anora…. there is another option." _By the Maker, you would think that someone just ran a sword through my gut. _ "You have the experience and the acumen to rule. Alistair has Maric's bloodline. You could… use this to your advantage." I could feel the tips of my pointed ears burning.

"Oh?" The queen scowled. "And set up the bastard son of a bastard son to inherit the throne? And here I thought we were making progress in coming to an agreement," Anora narrowed her eyes and gave me the look that every elf in Thedas has seen on all human faces at least once in their lives... _never his though. Never his_.

"Perhaps elves are more… forgiving about such things. But the noble houses of Ferelden are not."

"Elves take their bonding and procreation very seriously." _Well, elves from Ferelden anyway. Antiva was apparently another story. _"But I was not proposing an heir conceived on the wrong side of the sheets. I was proposing…" I could hardly get the words out. I swallowed and steeled myself. "I was proposing a proposal. One that would lead to a joint rule between you and Alistair." I couldn't put to words what I really meant, I just couldn't. They would not come.

Anora looked surprised, then intrigued. "Marry Alistair? That IS an interesting thought, Warden. My word, what would Cailan say if he knew…" She stroked her chin in contemplation. "There are worse ways to rule. I ruled for five years in Cailan's name, what difference will it make, truly, to rule through his half-brother? And he seems handsome enough. Hopefully we could conceive an heir with his looks any my brains…"

My heart leapt into my chest, an angry fire. "You speak of him like he's a stallion available for stud! Made for pleasure riding and siring strong colts on your favorite mare as you lead him around by the nose," I told the queen vehemently.

Anora smirked and raised an eyebrow at me. "You mean to imply that he is not exactly that? For I could have sworn I thought you meant by your proposal." I glared at her, trying to keep the pain out of my expression. But she saw it anyway. Her grin disappeared and she cocked her head a bit to the side, reading my face like an open codex.

"You're… you're in love with him, aren't you Warden?"

"Your majesty, I…." I squirmed, knowing that the truth was now the bronto in the room that could not be ignored. "Yes. Yes I am. And he returns my love."

_By Andraste's Ashes, why did I ever let him filch the key to my heart's strongbox??_

"But I am his first love, and he loves me as only a newly besotted man can, with the blind loyalty of a puppy not the devotion of a man." _Or so I'm going to tell you, Anora Mac Tir Traitorsdatter. I know better._ "But he is steadfast and true, and I know he will permit no lovers to his bed, were he married under the gaze of the Maker and the world."

_Filch the key, you fool? You handed it to him on a platter. And now you're surprised to find his daggers in there? Fool. Lovesick fool._

"That may be true. But I wonder, Warden… would you turn him down in a moment of weakness?" Anora said, not unkindly. "If your shining knight dropped his shield in a trying moment, and gave in to the call of love over that of duty? What then?"

I swallowed, trying desperately not to let the tears fall. "Alistair values duty over passion in all things. Any time during our travels, if I even considered doing something less than noble, he was there with a strong word and a scowling face." _Will he scowl like that when I tell him what I have done here, I wonder?_ "He will not falter. And… and I intend to make it easier for him to decide. I will tell him before the Landsmeet of this plan, and that we can no longer continue…. this…"

"Fraternizing," Anora said. Hearing her repeat Morrigan's words stung all the more. She was, however, trying to lesson the blow by making light of it. Perhaps she would indeed be a good match for Alistair.

"Err, yes. Fraternizing. As you say. There shall be no more fraternizing."

"You are a Grey Warden, and all know of how you toiled to save Arl Eamon and his son. You do not speak such words lightly. Very well. I will think on what you propose and speak to Eamon about this."

"Please, Anora, I mean, your Majesty. Please grant me leave to speak to Alistair first. I do not want him to hear this plan from anyone else's lips."

"Granted. I will speak to the arl upon the morrow. Now, if you would excuse me… I must prepare myself for this as well. I must pray to the Maker for strength and guidance… and thank him for your sacrifice."

That did it. I had no hope of holding back the tears, not now. Not after that. With a curt nod, I headed from the queen's chamber, not unhastily. I said nothing, not trusting my voice to carry out the words.

"Tabris…" she called after me. Strange that she would call me by my real name. I stopped, but did not turn.

"Yes, your majesty?" I managed to choke out.

"I would not be… wroth… were I to learn that you were to spend this last night with him. But upon the dawn, I will hold you to your word and move forward with this plan."

"As you wish, your majesty"

Out in the hallway, I lost all control of my composure, much to the surprise and chagrin of the two guards stationed outside the queen's chambers. To see a Grey Warden crying like a spoiled princess must have been a sight to see. I ran down the hall and out of the arl's estate into the yard, intent on being as far from anyone I knew until I could get a firm grasp on my emotions.

But my shield was there, in the yard. _Maker take him and his sweet, protective hide. Not even he can shield me from myself._


	2. Part 2

**Upon the Morrow – Part 2**

I froze in my tracks upon seeing him standing there in the yard. He was wearing his old splintmail, not his normal heavy plate. In his hands he held a pike, and seemed to dance around a target dummy he'd set up. _Training. Of course. Or trying to clear his mind of this Landsmeet insanity. Probably both._

"Maker's Breath!" he exclaimed, cutting his pike-twirling move short. "You look like the entire Darkspawn horde just appeared inside Arl Eamon's estate. Need some help with them?" Alistair's face sported an ear-to-ear grin with matching smiling eyes.

"We can speak later, Alistair," I told him. "Please, come no closer. Right now I need to be alone." His expression quickly turned to one of concern.

_Please, Maker, let him not see the tears, please._

"Alone?" He looked genuinely hurt by my request. "Love, we've been at each other's sides since Ostagar. _More_ than just sides since after we lifted the Zathrian's werewolf curse." He tried to smile at his own joke, but it was a pale thing. _Great, looks like I've gone and set this whole blasted mess off on the completely wrong foot_. "Of course, if you insist I won't stop you…" he replied, ever the gentleman. "But if you head out into the market, I will follow you. The streets of Denerim are too dangerous right now for me to consider doing otherwise."

"Did you miss all those battles where you were "at my side"? I can handle myself."

"Of course I didn't. The point is, we've saved each other's lives countless times. I'm not about to let you go out there without my shield to protect you. The same way _you_ would not let me go out by myself, without your daggers to watch my back and stab our foes in the kidneys." He started walking toward her.

"Alistair, PLEASE! Come no closer," I pleaded, my voice cracking and betraying me. "We can speak more once I've… had time to compose myself." _And had a few tankards of ale to boot, to help loosen my treacherous tongue._

He stopped, and his hurt and confused look intensified. "Your desire is my command…" he replied, but not with his normal playful inflection. _I hurt him. I suppose I should get used to the feeling._

He turned and slammed his pike into the dummy. Again, again, again he smashed it.

I did not linger to ruminate on the dimming fate of the straw-and-wood man.

After getting well enough away from the Arl's estate, I kept to the shadows to ensure that Alistair would not find me. I leaned against a stone wall and slumped to the ground, finally letting the sobs and tears consume me. I did not care who saw me or who walked by.

But I should have.

"By the Maker! You're the last one I expected to find when I heard such sobbing, Warden."

Startled, my one hand instinctively reached for my dagger, and the other wiped my eyes. I saw a Chantry sister before me, kneeling down to try and catch my gaze. She shied back when she saw my reach.

"My… my apologies, Sister. I did not know who approached."

"If you did not have those instincts, you would not be a Grey Warden. The same as I would not be a Chantry sister, if I did not have the instincts to seek out those who are hurting and try to help them." She smiled, and offered me her hand. "Though I must say, if you wanted to avoid my notice, you should not have huddled down against the outside of the Chantry wall." She grinned at I accepted her hand and came to my feet. "Please, come with me. The Chantry is closed, but with me as your escort you would be welcome to respite in the Sister's common room. Especially after the service you've done for our Chantry by recovering those scrolls."

"You're…. I'm sorry, your name has completely slipped my mind." I felt stupid, and even more embarrassed. The Sister had been so thrilled when I'd given her those ancient ciphers… and I had taken my reward and headed out, not giving her a second thought.

"It is of no concern, Warden. My name is Sister Justine. And, if I may be so bold, I never did catch your name…"

"My name is Tabris. Please, lead the way."

The Chantry Sister's common room was round, with a high ceiling and a large fireplace on the north wall. Sturdy yet comfortable couches were placed perpendicular to it, a knee-high table situated between the two. Tables and chairs circled the edges of the room. Sister Justine led me to one of the couches and bade me sit. She then gestured to one of her sisters and spoke briefly with her before sitting down on the opposite couch.

"So, Warden…. I mean, Tabris. I do not want to pry into your affairs, but know that I am here to offer a friendly ear if you so desire it."

"My troubles are of a… political nature." I tried to keep my face stoic, hoping that the idea of politics would sour Sister Justine's interest. The other sister returned, bearing two cups of tea, of which she offered me one. _Not the ale I was looking for, but it figures that in my wishes for a drink the Maker provides me with tea._ I took the tea with a polite nod. There was a small handkerchief on the teacup's saucer, which I thanked the sister for and used to dry my eyes and face.

"How strange," Sister Justine reflected, after a sip of tea. "Politics can bring men to such tears, but a woman? The only thing I know of to bring on such a fit would be tied to matters of the heart, not a matter of whose bum sits on which oh-so-important seat." She grinned. "Especially a Blight fighting, Darkspawn slaughtering Grey Warden…."

"Sometimes, Sister, they are one in the same." _They must teach face reading in the Chantry. Maybe Leliana taught them all. _"Especially when one is a mere elf in love with a king's bastard."

"Ahhh…. I see you did not lie to me then." She tittered. "My dear, you must admit, the songs and tales they could write about the Last Two Grey Wardens, bound to one another on the battlefield and off…"

"A fine tale for telling around a late-winter fire, singing of lives and times gone past. Not so romantic when it's happening to you." I sighed. "And, I may add, we are not the last Grey Wardens. There are others. We are just the last two in Ferelden."

"That is all that matters in the songs dear… but I digress. Do not mind me… if you wish to talk about it, the Chantry is sworn to secrecy with the burdens that are relieved onto it in confidence."

Did I? Did I really wish to talk about it with this sister? The daylight had been fading when she brought me inside; I did not dare miss my chance to talk to Alistair before the sun returned. I sipped my tea again. "I do not wish to burden you with matters of state, kind Sister. I need to return and speak with Alistair before the night is out. Could you… could you tell me what you've decoded so far from the ciphers I brought you?"

Sister Justine nodded, and went into a lengthy explication as to what she had found, and what steps she needed to take to discover more from the scrolls. I sipped my tea, listening enough to be polite. When my tea was gone, I stood. "Thank you for your hospitality Sister, especially in these dark times."

"It is nothing, Warden Tabris. This Chantry is still deeply indebted to you. It was a small way to help start paying back some of that debt." She stood as well, and headed with me to the Chantry's side door. "If you'd like, you're welcome to sit in our back garden for a bit before you leave. The night air may help clear your mind as well. Stay as long as you like, and no one will bother you. Much safer than crying yourself into hysterics in the middle of the road."

It was an odd thing to say, especially after it seemed that her welcome here had expired. But I still wasn't sure if I was ready to face Alistair yet. "You are too kind, far to kind, Sister. I thank you deeply for the offer."

Sister Justine opened up a thick wooden door, which headed out into a small manicured garden. The sisters must grow night-blooming jasmine out there, because the air was perfumed with it. The garden's centerpiece was a beautiful marble fountain, with benches built into its rounded sides.

On one of those benches sat the anonymous sister…. and my shield. My shining shield in the darkness. The sister bowed and excused herself, and Sister Justine faded into the shadows as well as any street-born rogue.

Alistair stood. "So, my dear, are you going to explain to me what this is all about? Or are we going to communicate through Chantry sisters going forward?"

The tears started again. _Oh, you giant, naive, wonderful fool. How do you think I shall send you letters from the four corners of Thedas, if not through the Chantry's messengers?_

Everything turned into a blur, and the only reason I did not fall to the ground was thanks to a giant pair of battle-hardened arms.

"I'm sorry, love. I'm so sorry…" Alistair repeated himself several times, as I sobbed. We stood there, in the Chantry garden, for longer than I care to recount now. "I don't know what I did, but please, talk to me. We shall make it right."


	3. Part 3

**Upon the Morrow – Part 3**

His self-defacing words snapped me into a more coherent state.

"...you? What _you_ did? Oh, by the Maker… you think this is your fault?" I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. "Let's sit down. Now that we're facing the Landsmeet, we need to talk. About… us." I tried to sound official and undetached, but I failed miserably.

"Us?" Alistair said, stunned. "What does that have to do with the Landsmeet?" _Maker's Breath, listen to him… If his daggers are in my heart's strongbox, mine have stabbed through his shields and wound him just as deeply._ We sat down on the marble bench surrounding the fountain. A few more stray tears fell onto the cobblestones as I looked at my feet.

"Ferelden… Ferelden needs a ruler," I started tentatively.

"Is _that_ why we're calling the Landsmeet? I'd wondered about that."

"Alistair, _please_. Stop. Just this once, so can finish."

"Of course." _He looks like he sees the entire Darkspawn horde reflected in my eyes. Come on, out with it now._

"Being united before the Blight is our first and foremost priority. We should be thinking of alliances, not ways to tear the other side down."

"Wait," Alistair said, all hints of glibness gone from his voice. "We are _not_ forming an alliance with Loghain. You _know_ that will not end well. Need I remind you that our very continued existence is treason in his eyes?"

"No. Not Loghain. I speak of Anora."

"Same bloody difference."

"In that you're wrong, my shield. Anora has truly held the throne of Ferelden since Maric died. Cailan… was never very interested in the job."

"Huh," Alistair grunted. "Perhaps he and I have more in common than I once thought." He paused. "But I'm still not seeing why Anora has anything at all to do with us. Out with it now, my love, no more sneaking and hiding."

_Maker preserve us. _"You need to marry her. Anora. For the good of Ferelden." Now that she'd started, it just all just came pouring out of her. "In you, a man of royal blood, to appease the noble houses and bind our enemies against the Blight and beyond. In her, the ability and experience to run the kingdom in your steed and give you your freedom, after a fashion."

Alistair's face darkened. He leaned back and stared at me incredulously.

"So, you would set me up as a golem king? Made to nod and make the right noises by those who hold my control rod? Maybe even crush a few heads along the way?" he said, squinting angrily at me through his pinching thumb and forefinger.

"We… we must be united against the Blight. You and Anora can do that, together." My heart had exhausted itself of its grief, all it had left for the moment was logic and reason.

"Don't you dare use the sodding Blight against me! It would work just as well to let Anora rule, much as it chafes me, and you and I work to stop the Blight. As is our _chosen_ duty, not one thrust on us by an accident of birth."

"There is more to ruling than issuing decrees and caring for your people," I said. "A ruler needs an heir, or we land ourselves right back here, facing an uncertain Landsmeet and possible civil war."

He stared at her, clearly uneasy with this thought. "Go on."

"Which is why you can't just let her rule on her own. An heir of Calenhad's line would provide peace in the realm, a ruler who would be accepted and could unite the majority of the noble houses without question. It gives Anora's reign a legitimacy that cannot be achieved else wise. Both through you… and her children. Your children, I mean. Together." I felt my heart breaking all over again. _And I still have more pain to inflict here. Maker help me. _"Which is also why you need to marry her. Would you wish your childhood on an innocent? Your own child?"

His stoic stony look was betrayed by the pain in his eyes. "But, we're still not talking about "us" here, are we?"

"I was getting there," I admitted. "We… I… I promised Anora that I would end it. Between us. For the good of the realm and the succession."

His eyes narrowed, and his flinty glare was almost frightening. "No."

"No?" It was the last thing I expected him to say. "…no? How could it possibly be any other way?"

"I won't lose you. Not to that traitor's spawn." I suddenly found him with his arms around me, pulling me firmly into his embrace. "No. No. It will not be. It _cannot._ What is the…" I heard his voice catch in his throat. "What is the bloody _point_ of being king if you can't be with the one you love?"

_My shield weeps_. It was like one of my acid vials exploded inside my chest.

He pushed me back, holding me by my shoulders. "Look at me, Tabris. Look me in the eye." I did, wary of what was coming next. Of what_ I_ would say next.

"This was her idea, wasn't it?"

My reaction betrayed me. The tears started again, and I hung my head in shame. I was as a loss, not knowing what to do, not knowing what to say.

"I see." I'd only rarely heard that much steel in his voice. _If I didn't know better, I would think he was defending his Templar training against Morrigan's mocking scorn. _"I guess I just expected more from you, Tabris. After all we've been through. I… thought you loved me."

I wrenched myself out of his grasp and jumped up off the bench, lashing around to meet his gaze again. "I _do_ love you! You impossible fool. Why do you think this is _SO BLOODY HARD _to contemplate? Let alone do?"

"Then why do it? If you truly do think that Anora and I should… ally with one another, that's one thing. It has nothing to do with the other."

"Do you really believe that, Alistair? Do you?" I paced a short distance back and forth as I ranted. "Do you really want to be constantly facing people who mock you, behind closed doors as well in the open for keeping your "elven whore" at court? It will undermine your and Anora's power both. You'll be seen as an elf sympathizing lecherous bastard, and she a weak woman who cannot keep her husband in their bedchamber."

"That's… that's ridiculous!" he stammered. "You stand before living proof that kings can do as they like in the bedchamber and come away smelling like a rose." The smoldering anger was back in his voice. "They're willing to consider putting Maric's by-blow on the throne, even though the only contact I had with the man was before I even existed. Even if Anora and I have to rut like prized mabari breeding hounds, that doesn't change _us_. How I feel about you. Though, perhaps it changes how you feel about me…" His anger was leaving him, and the reality of what I had proposed seemed to finally be hitting him. "Though, I must say, it'd be terribly unfair to both of you. Especially once… I cannot forsake being involved in the life of my child, no matter who is their mother."

He paused and looked at me, concerned and slightly awed perhaps. "Is that why you're doing this?" His eyes started laughing a bit, and a small grin graced his face. "My my, how the mighty have fallen… it's not so easy to think of just yourself when you honestly start caring about others, now is it?"

"I…" _Remind me again why people think he's a stupid meat-head? I keep forgetting._ "I've learned a few things about duty since I… became a Grey Warden. Sometimes, the ends are not worth the means."

"Which is odd," Alistair said, still smirking a bit. "Because the Grey Wardens are all about stopping the Blight and the eradicating the Darkspawn, no matter what the cost. The life of, say, a small child, even an noble's child, would be considered to be something that could be lost in the name of the greater good. Certainly not worth risking mage-born abominations and a jaunt in the Fade."

"Well, I think that depends on the Grey Warden, don't you?" I countered.

"Perhaps you are right. Come here, my selfless little backstabber," he said, reaching out his arm to me. I sat beside him, and buried my face in his side. _Don't I ever run out of sodding tears?_

"I don't want to lose you," I said with a sigh when I could control my tongue again.

"Nor I you. Not ever."

"So…" I continued, still sitting under the crook of his arm. "How do you suggest we move forward? Anora is going to talk to Eamon in the morning about… you two."

"A Grey Warden once told me that everyone in this world is out for themselves. I realized then that sometimes you have to hold onto what's important in life, no matter what the cost." I looked up at him. _There's that bloody grin, all mixed up with love and amusement._

"But… I told you that."

"You most certainly did." _Can that cat-in-the-cream grin get any bigger? _"It seems to me that I'm not the only one here who's opened up to a new way of thinking."

"….you may be right there… my love."

"Oh good! So we've established that you no longer hate me and want I should throw myself off of the top of Fort Draken."

I had to laugh a bit at that. "Never." I put my arm behind his back and squeezed him tightly. "Not now, not ever."

"We will figure this out." He put his hand under my chin and made me meet his gaze. "Whatever we decide will not be perfect, but I will not give up on you. Not for Ferelden, not for the Blight, not for the Maker himself." He smiled. "And, most certainly _not_ for Anora Mac Tir."

I threw my hands around his neck and kissed him, which quickly dissolved into something that made us very conscientious of our surroundings. Too soon, he pulled away and plied his laughing eyes on me. "If you're sincere about continuing down this path for the evening, we should find somewhere that isn't in the shadow of the Chantry, don't you think?"

"Yes, of course," I agreed. "But where to go? We're all crammed into Eamon's estate like packed fish. The Gnawed Noble, perhaps?"

"I had a different idea," Alistair said, smirking. "What about the Pearl?"

"The…. Pearl? My word Alistair, you really _have_ changed." I punched his arm jokingly. "You _do_ know what kind of an establishment the Pearl is, yes? It's purpose is not blotted off your Templar-forged mental map?"

"So, you're saying that a brothel doesn't really have anything to do with broth? I wasn't sure, thanks for clearing that up for me." That remark earned him punch in the opposite arm. "Owwww, stop that! Anyway, what I _do_ know is that they rent rooms and the company of women and men of questionable morals. I'm fairly sure that for a reasonable price, they could be convinced to let us use the room only and not the other… amenities they offer."

I looked at him. Really looked at him. _He has changed. He is no longer a sheltered Chantry boy, that's for certain._ It hurt a little to realize this, but his innocence was a small price to pay to see him grow into this new Alistair. One that could lead a group of men into battle by choice, not circumstance and need. One who could stand up to squabbling nobles.

_One who maybe, someday, with a lot of practice and a few knocks about the head, could become a fairly decent king, I wager._

I pecked him on the cheek. "Lead the way, my shield. We shall deal with our more weighty concerns upon the morrow."

"Maker's Breath, you are beautiful… especially in moments when you finally let someone else take charge for once."

This time I playfully punched him in the stomach. "I'll show _you_ who's in charge!"

"Oh? Will you?" I kept punching, laughing as he stood and straightened. He indulged me for a moment, before bending over and picking me up off of the bench, and threw me over his shoulder not unlike a sack of potatoes.

"Put me down _now_, you giant lug!" _If you'd stop laughing so hard, maybe you'd actually get him to do it! _I drummed my fists on his back in a fine show of resistance.

"Alright, if you insist," he relented. "Though I swear I heard somewhere that women _liked_ being swept off their feet. You will at least permit me to escort m'lady? The hour is quite late." He bowed with an over-exaggerated flourish.

"Always, my shield. Always."

From a candlelit window above, the two Chantry sisters watched the two Grey Wardens leave the garden, arm in arm.


	4. Epilogue

**Upon the Morrow – Epilogue**

Chancellor. After being called "the Warden" for what feels like forever, it is an odd title. Like trying to wear someone else's armor; useful, powerful, but it just doesn't fit quite right.

These past six months have given me time to adjust to it. It is certainly easier to wear than my other title, Hero of Ferelden. But today, it stings as if someone branded the words "King's Gilded Whore" across my chest.

People will notice my absence. It will only feed the fires of rumor and intrigue. I should be there, in the front row of the crowded audience, giving my silent seal of approval of this union. In the eyes of many, this gesture would mean even more than the words of blessing the Grand Cleric will speak over them. Several even recommended that I approach Her Reverence and offer to do one of the traditional readings from the Chant of Light.

My courage in this matter is spent, however. I barely had any in the first place. When my shield refused to even consider the idea of ending things between us, I found hope in that. But I've watched them since then. Playing the role of First Chancellor, I serve as witness to their joint rule. Alistair is a quick learner, and Anora much more forgiving than I believed she could ever be. She does not berate him, and when they argue it is more of an exchange of passionate ideas rather than opposing forces warring with words.

He claims not to love her. I want to believe him. He honestly may not, as of this moment. Even now as he waits to profess to love, honor, and protect her in under the Maker's gaze and in the eyes of men. But I've seen them together, every day. It constantly reminds me of the beginning of our travels together. It's not as organic of a relationship, which is not surprising given how well Alistair and I got along when we first met. Our meeting was as comrades in arms. On top of that, I'd been granted Duncan's seal of approval as a worthy addition to the Grey Wardens. He and Anora met as enemies, she the untrustworthy daughter of a man whom he reviled more than the most unscrupulous of malificar.

Time changes everything, however. The only thing we are assured of in this life is change. Look at Arl Eamon. From a ruling arl with a loving wife and son, to a landless noble whose son lives in the Tower with a melancholy wife who still persists in her belief that Eamon lies to her about Alistair's father. She still wonders about why he's so fiercely loyal to him, loyal enough to give up his lands and live at court as his advisor.

She won't be happy if Alistair appoints him as First Chancellor.

Everyone is so focused on the wedding that I should not have trouble slipping away. I will make my way to Weisshaupt. They deserve to know the truth of what Alistair and I wrought that night in Redcliffe. If they will listen to my plea, perhaps they will even allow me to lead the hunt to find and kill her, and the child. Sten's speeches about atonement and honor are starting to ring more true in my heart than they once did.

Maker's Breath, even if Alistair could forgive me for running away, he will never forgive me for killing his flesh and blood, no matter how tainted the child may be. But I would be able to undo what we wrought. I fool myself not about my part in this. Just because I did not, could not, perform the ritual with Morrigan, it does not make me any less responsible for the outcome of her dark promises.

I look around my solar, a grand place for a grand woman with a grand purpose. It is not meant for the likes of elven whores who willingly allow witches absolve them of their sworn duty.

My old pack is stored in my closet, as well as my fine dragon scale armor. I will have to find provisions on the road, for today the kitchens will be a cacophony of noise and insanity. My old bedroll still hangs from the bottom of it. I will have to find a tent as well. A small one, easily carried. The smaller the better. Space for only one is ideal.

But there is one thing I must do first.

It is old and dry now. The petals a deep sanguine color, more black than red. I'd dried it, pressing it between the pages of a journal I rarely kept up with. Always I carried it with me when we fought the Blight.

But the Blight is over. And so too is that which the rose once represented.

I briefly consider sneaking into the royal apartments and leaving it on their bed. No. Not today. I dare not put a thorn in the paw of this union. It will make what needs to be done all the harder. Nevertheless, this relic will not be accompanying me.

Leliana. She will understand. I showed her the rose in camp one night during our travels, and together we giggled like school girls over it. By the time she finds it, my presence will surely have been missed. It may even inspire her to write a song. Bards love these romantic tragedies; Sister Justine was right about that.

I pressed the rose into the journal, wrote a simple goodbye on one of the blank pages, and closed the book's belted clasp. I gave the book to one of the guards stationed in the hallway outside my solar, requesting that the book be delivered to my friend the bard.

As I passed under the city gates, the bells began to ring. Their music spread through the city, as each district Chantry took up the toll. It was then that I broke into a blind run, not daring to look back.


End file.
